


Beatrice and Benedick Syndrome

by yesterday4



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, I rated to be safe. Not at all HBP compatible. Possible OCC, for which I apologize. :) I tried to keep them on track.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-03
Updated: 2007-03-03
Packaged: 2018-12-09 10:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11667702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesterday4/pseuds/yesterday4
Summary: “I cannot believe you grabbed my arse in front of the whole entire bloody classroom!”  A Valentine’s Day potion goes horribly wrong, forcing Hermione and Draco to act out countless love cliches.





	Beatrice and Benedick Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully this will be okay, Vexia! I originally had something more angsty that I actually liked better but it would not stop stalling on me… and this is, after all, for Valentine’s Day! I always had this floating around as a go to idea and, after four different starts and stops, thought why not! I really admire your writing so it was an honour (and really really scary also!) to get to write for you. :) I’m sorry it’s so late!

**Valentine For:** [](http://vexia.livejournal.com/profile)[**vexia**](http://vexia.livejournal.com/)

 **Title: Beatrice and Benedick Syndrome**  
**Author/Artist:** [](http://yesterday4.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://yesterday4.livejournal.com/)**yesterday4**  
**Type of Valentine:** Fic  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling. No profit is being made. Also, Shakespeare wrote _Much Ado About Nothing_ (or DID he?!), from which I have borrowed Beatrice and Benedick for my title. All quotes are from 1.1.94-114. This isn’t a Shakespeare story, however. No plays in this one, more’s the pity!  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Warnings:** I rated to be safe. Not at all HBP compatible. Possible OCC, for which I apologize. :) I tried to keep them on track.  
**Notes:** Hopefully this will be okay, Vexia! I originally had something more angsty that I actually liked better but it would not stop stalling on me… and this is, after all, for Valentine’s Day! I always had this floating around as a go to idea and, after four different starts and stops, thought why not! I really admire your writing so it was an honour (and really really scary also!) to get to write for you. :) I’m sorry it’s so late!

Also, I must thank my mom, without whom I never would have gotten anywhere on this exchange!

 **Summary:** “I cannot believe you grabbed my arse in front of the whole entire bloody classroom!” A Valentine’s Day potion goes horribly wrong, forcing Hermione and Draco to act out countless love cliches.

  


**Beatrice and Benedick Syndrome**

  
_“I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody marks you.”_  
\- Beatrice

_Incident the First_

It was a classic example of a potion gone very, very wrong.

Draco Malfoy had erroneously assumed that these things just never happened, especially not to intelligent wizards such as him and… well. He was man enough to admit that he never really supposed _she_ would be here either. This error could only be measured on a Longbottom scale of ineptitude. He was so humiliated. This was by far the worst class he had ever attended and he didn’t even want to _think_ about what had happened after.

Shuddering delicately, he slumped forward and rested his head against his arms. Perhaps if he did not even so much as move, he could forget exactly who was sitting two tables over, nose up in the air and an expression of abject disgust pinching her not terribly unattractive features. Granted, fifteen minutes ago-

But he wasn’t going to think about that.

“I cannot believe you flubbed up that potion so thoroughly,” sniffed the girl he was attempting to ignore. He heard her weight shift; knew she was pulling herself up straighter. Then, “I cannot believe you grabbed my arse in front of the whole entire bloody classroom!”

It was enough to make him want to smash his head into the table. Repeatedly. He was more than willing to risk his facial features if it meant lapsing into unconsciousness. One more word out of her swotty little mouth and he was going to do it.

“ _I_ flubbed it up?! Well, excuse _me_. I do believe it was your dear friend Weasley who ran into me. I merely attempted to avoid being trampled by that overgrown dimwit. It was hardly _my_ fault that you were standing much too close. If you could control yourself and keep a reasonable distance, I would never have run into you and I most certainly wouldn’t have ended up spilling my potion everywhere.”

Pausing, Draco cracked open his eyes enough to see the bluish stain on his freshly laundered robes. If only it hadn’t sunk through to his skin. If only it hadn’t splashed on Granger, of all people. If only he hadn’t grabbed her _arse_. Frowning, he resisted the urge to wipe his palm on his trousers.

Which reminded him.

“Besides, _you_ were the one who leaned over and whispered all that rubbish about how you couldn’t wait to get me alone after class. You had quite the ravishment planned, Granger. Always thought you fancied me, though I confess I had no idea you would be so wicked.”

Raised his head enough to bat his eyelashes coquettishly in her direction.

Granger’s eye roll was ruined entirely by the sudden rush of pink on her cheeks. Tipping her chin up further still, she made a game attempt at pride.

“ _That_ was the potion speaking, you fool. You are completely delusional if you think I would ever want to ravish you in a broom closet.”

“In my Quidditch uniform too,” he provided helpfully. “How very naughty.”

He thought she gagged a little at that one but he had his pride too. Turning away from her, he locked his gaze on the opposite wall. Gave into the urge to wipe his palm as surreptitiously as possible on the table. It was as though the curve of her arse was _imprinted_ in it. He felt dirty.

Not one to be ignored for long, Hermione piped up with, “Well, your hand lingered for quite a while, Malfoy. Longer maybe even than the potion dictated. Something you want to tell me?”

A million answers flooded Draco’s mind simultaneously. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a bad arse after all. Perhaps he wanted to anger the Weasel. Perhaps he had recognized the opportunity for a free lingering grope and, being a normal teenager, hadn’t been able to pass it up. Or perhaps:

“You said it yourself. Blasted potion. How long do they expect us to sit in here for? How many more disgusting displays of affection do I have to show you before it wears off? This is terrible.”

This time her eye roll was very successful. “So melodramatic, Malfoy. I believe Professor Snape wants us to sit in here until it’s worn off. Better than the public humiliation that would ensue if we were seen… you know… _besotted_ , wouldn’t you agree? If you had bothered to read your homework last night, you would know the Beatrice and Benedick Potion has four stages, one of which we already went through.”

Oh, how he disliked her tone of voice.

“I’ll have you know I _did_ do my reading, you presumptuous bint. I just couldn’t get past the fact that Snape caved to the pressure of brewing a suitable Valentine’s Day potion. How asinine.”

Hermione couldn’t agree more, although she was in no hurry to admit it aloud. Relaxing her posture now that Draco’s gaze had moved, she went over the whole thing again in her mind.

It had seemed simple enough last night. Brew the potion. Do not touch the potion. Dribble a small amount onto two charmed paper dolls. Watch terrible love clichés unfold. It was an amusing waste of a class. It was a bloody nightmare now, made even more so because of-

But then, she wasn’t going to think about that. Clearly Malfoy hadn’t read into it as much as he claimed he had. As for Hermione, she was feeling distinctly suicidal at realizing that everything she that had previously made her feel like vomiting was actually-

But that was still thinking!

It had been the strangest thing, however. One moment she had been completely aghast that Malfoy had splashed her with his potion, the next it was as though she had been transported to some alternate universe. All she had known- all that had mattered to her- was her secret relationship with the ferret, something she couldn’t even stomach the idea of, now that her head had cleared. Really, she couldn’t. It was embarrassing to think of the need she’d felt; of how desperate she’d been to get him alone and all to herself. Staring at the back of his head, she realized that this was quite possibly the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

Abruptly, she announced, “Nothing that goes on in this room will ever be discussed again, agreed? I don’t want to spend the rest of my time at Hogwarts listening to you reenact what I might say while not feeling quite like myself.”

She didn’t have to suggest it twice. Lifting his head, Draco swiveled around to face her completely. Leaned over and extended his hand.

“Here’s to never telling anyone the lies this potion will make us speak.”

Her hand was cooler than his but her grip was firm. She was brassy enough to maintain eye contact the whole while. Frowning, Draco shook her hand before turning to face the wall once again. Wished that Snape hadn’t had the foresight to confiscate both of their wands, as a swift Avada Kedavra sounded pretty good right then.

**

_Incident the Second_

It came upon Draco slowly, with such a deceiving softness that if he hadn’t been waiting for that exact moment, he might have been lulled into thinking it was reality.

Having abandoned Hermione to her homework in favour of napping the interlude away, the beginnings of the second stage had been almost comforting. He had felt ridiculously calm and content, like everything was right in the world. In fact, before realizing just what was going on, he had been sure he was about to have the best sleep of his life.

Then his stomach had begun acting up, not in a bad way but in a way that reminded him of how he’d felt the first time Pansy had let him kiss her. He’d felt excited and- oh, Merlin, the shame of it all!- _breathless_.

Over Granger. And her stupid homework.

Now, fully in the throws of that horrid potion, Draco Malfoy was having a complete out of body experience. He recognized distantly that Hermione Granger doing homework was typical and boring. He remembered that doing it so publicly made her into a bossy know-it-all. He recalled that seeing her with her books had always made him want to accidentally dump his morning coffee all over her table.

However, Draco was having a problem. No matter how vividly he knew all of that to be fact, there was another horrible part of him that just wasn’t having it. That other part was sick, twisted.

That other part thought know-it-all Granger was only about the most intriguing thing ever.

Watching her read was such an enlightening experience. Barely aware that he was leaning forward, Draco rested his elbows on the table and wondered how it was that he had never once realized how bloody hot such dedication was. She must know things, he figured, things that other people never even wondered. She thought she was a know-it-all because she _was_. She was the smartest person since, well, _him_.

Rising, he sauntered over to her and hunched down so that he was at eye level. From the distant corner of his still sensible brain, he tried to urge his hands to stay still but, nevertheless, they rose and lowered her book. She gasped, all exaggerated surprise, and raised knowledgeable eyes in his direction.

“Why, Draco,” she breathed, not pulling her book from his grasp. “Can’t you see I’m reading? I find such peace in books, such serenity in worlds unknown to me. How terrible to be interrupted.”

Her smile was so blindingly bright and so very unlike Hermione that Draco knew she was just as out of control as he was. She looked like a dimwit, he thought. Didn’t want to think about what he looked like.

He wanted to bite off his tongue when the next thing he said was, “Unknown worlds? How fascinating. I would love for you to tell me everything you know about them. I am so much smarter than all of my friends and have often hungered for intelligent conversation.”

“It is just the same for me!” she gushed. Softly, she turned the book so that he could see it. “This one is about runes. It’s not assigned but then if we only read what was assigned to us, we wouldn’t have much of an edge, now would we? This one suggests that possibly all of the translations done thus far have been incorrect. See this one here? They’re saying that if it’s turned just _so_ …”

Abruptly Hermione cut off her speech. Draco was just as gob smacked, when what had begun as something slow and soothing was snatched back with such speed it was dizzying.

“Don’t touch my book,” snapped the real Hermione.

“Like I’d want to know about Ancient Runes anyway.”

Scowling, he stood up and pretended to stretch to avoid looking at her. Hermione seemed to like that solution as well. Hugging her book to her chest, she skirted around him and went to sit on the other side of the room. He watched her go from the corner of his eyes, rather unsure what to do.

Eventually, he admitted, “That wasn’t too terrible.”

Hermione seemed to need time to ponder that. Frustrated and bored, Draco began to pace in a grand manner that reminded him a little of Snape.

“I suppose not,” she agreed after a rather pregnant pause. “At least you didn’t really _touch_ me.”

“At least you didn’t suggest shagging me in a broom closet. I win, you know. That is much more traumatizing.”

“Wasn’t aware this was a competition, Malfoy.”

He snorted at that. Choosing a different seat this time, one nearer to Granger- he didn’t like shouting across empty rooms after all- he smirked in her direction.

“Come now, Granger. What _isn’t_ a competition with us?”

She laughed a bit at that, much to his surprise. Deciding to play along, he angled closer and reached forward enough to brush the tips of his fingers along the spine of her book.

Swore to himself that he didn’t care about her opinion when he asked, “Do you reckon it’s true? A translation error?”

Hermione blinked. “No. In fact, the whole book seems to be utter rubbish but it is an interesting theory. We rely a lot on how we’re told to read things.”

“Hmm. Quite scandalous if it’s wrong.”

“Indeed.”

An awkward silence descended so quickly that it might have been amusing if Draco hadn’t been a part of it. He watched her fiddle with the corner of the spine, her fingers far enough away from where his still rested that there would be no possible chance of them accidentally brushing. Which was a _good_ thing!

Cleared his throat. “Mind if I take a look at it? Just because I’m bored, you understand. Not because I care.”

Her smile was all knowing, much to his irritation. Smirking a smirk he would have been proud to call his own, Hermione slid her book in his direction.

“By all means, Malfoy. Broaden your horizons.”

**

The whole bother of lending Malfoy her book was that it gave Hermione entirely too much time to think. She could not believe that Malfoy had lied to her about having done his homework. Well, yes she could, but that was not the point. She could imagine him now, relaxed in the Slytherin dungeons, potions textbook in hand. “Why, what a silly Valentine’s Day potion!” he would have sniffed, glaring imperiously at the covers. “Only an idiot would have to do his homework!”

It was a fine mess Malfoy had landed them in, a mess they could have avoided altogether if Draco was smart enough to realize just what it was he’d managed to prove when he dumped his potion on her.

It was mind numbing. She’d had her suspicions, sure. Or at least she had when it came to _herself_. But those were vile wretched thoughts that she made a point of never thinking. She had become extremely adept at avoiding the whole thing mentally. She had clearly made a crucial error.

Forcing herself to think through the whole thing calmly, she folded her hands on her desk and continued to regard Malfoy less than discreetly. Wondered if he’d suppressed it so well that he’d managed not even to realize that _it_ was there. Merlin, she’d kill to have her potions text with her right now. If only Snape hadn’t rushed them so quickly from the room.

But then… _could_ it be true? The steady stream of insults the two of them had hurled at each other over the years had gradually become less vitriolic, that much was correct. He had said hello to her once in the corridor, last month. She had sided with his arguments in Arithmancy, once or twice. She _supposed_ the possibility wasn’t completely impossible.

Then she realized that it was entirely more than possible- was in actuality _fact_ \- or the bloody potion would never have affected them at all. She pulled a face at Malfoy, who was obliviously still involved in her book, blissfully unaware of what an idiot he was.

However, she puzzled, Draco being unaware was just the key. If he didn’t _know_ and never found out, things could go on precisely as they were. _She_ knew now, of course, but then she most certainly was not about to tell anyone. She would make a point of not acting at all differently. In fact, the second they got out of the room, she would even make sure to find a way to have points removed from Slytherin. Just like normal! Why, how smart she was. That was just the key. She would pretend like-

Oh, it was too much to even voice in her head.

Blast, but she did detest Shakespeare!

**

_Incident the Third_

“Now, see here! If you turn it like the bloody book says, it could definitely be read as ‘cat’ rather than ‘boy’!”

“‘Cat’?! Have you gone completely off your rocker? Everyone knows that the symbol for ‘cat’ is more like the symbol for ‘woman’. How you are getting ‘boy’ out of all of this, I’ll never know! How can you _believe_ that book?”

A little over an hour after lending her book to Malfoy, Hermione Granger was ready to commit murder. She could not believe that someone she had believed to be reasonably intelligent (today in its entirety aside) could actually take the opinion of such a poorly researched book into consideration. In truth, she had taken it out of the library with the intention of having a good laugh, not for debating its validity with the boy who was too annoying to truly be an enemy.

Never in her whole entire life had she been more irritated by someone. She was, in fact, only seconds away from beating him over the head with the stupid book; was so mad that she had almost forgotten her earlier problems.

Didn’t even look attractive when he argued, unlike Lavender had suggested just last week. His pasty complexion was blotchy mid-debate and he had the most annoying tendency to push at his hair. She couldn’t believe the spell had proven what it had, seeing him like this. He was leaning over her desk, currently, jabbing a finger into her book to prove his point in a matter that was entirely abusive towards the poor pages.

“You’re going to hurt my book,” she snapped, pulling it away from him. “Keep your hands to yourself, Malfoy.”

It was precisely the wrong thing to say. “Oh ho ho, Granger. If what you said earlier was any indication-”

“That was the potion! And stop bringing it up. Besides, if you grope at me like that again-”

“Potion!”

“-then I swear to Merlin I will hex off the Malfoy family jewels. I know you and yours are all concerned with succession and whatnot, but I guarantee you that I don’t care one bit if you ever” -- What was happening to her? _The Malfoy family jewels_? Had she said that? Why couldn’t she _stop_? -- “shag anyone again… if you have ever shagged anyone at all! My word, the very idea!”

She rolled her eyes at the conclusion of her little speech, quite horrified with herself. It was then that she felt that horrible gutwrenching pull and knew that it was all about to happen again and-

Had Malfoy’s eyes always caught the light like that when he was angry? Merlin help her, it was like watching molten fire. And she was out of breath! Seemed he was too, she realized abruptly. He was watching her still, but the anger had left his gaze, replaced with something darker, something by far more _interesting_.

She would never be sure which one of them gave into the bloody potion and moved first. One minute she was watching Malfoy watch her; the next, she was on her feet, he was closer to her, and she was in his arms, the last place she’d ever thought she would end up. And he was kissing her.

Unfortunately, it was by far the best kiss Hermione had ever received. To say Draco was talented was only the understatement of the century. She felt heady as his lips danced deftly over hers. Forgot all about that cursed potion when she brought her hands to his shoulders and pulled him closer. His hair felt silky and soft where it brushed against her fingers. Oh, Merlin, this was bad. She could not quite stop herself from murmuring into his mouth.

Why had they never done this before? Surely this was a better use of their mouths than arguing!

“Granger,” Draco exhaled, moving his mouth to her neck in order to leave a passionate trail of kisses. “Granger, you’re un-bloody-believable!”

The potion, she told herself, feeling dizzy, but oh! His voice sounded dangerous and bad and his hand was toying with the buttons on her blouse. A whisper of chilly air on her chest alerted her to his success. Surely she _meant_ to stop him. After all, how incredibly trashy to blame such whorish behavior on a potion and-

Then he was slipping his hand through the hole her opened buttons had created; was cupping her breast. His breath was shallow and choppy against her cheek. He seemed quite unlike himself when he brought his mouth back to hers, but still! This was so much better than Viktor’s awkward advances.

Hermione was almost sorry when she felt the twinge in her stomach, signaling the end of this round with the potion. Draco’s hand and mouth stilled simultaneously; Hermione froze, lips still pressed to his and fingers tangled in his hair.

A beat and then-

He kissed her again. Without the potion, he was not quite as talented as she might have been led to believe- his kisses seemed unsure, hesitant, but at least she was not choking on his tongue, like she had with Viktor- but she was far too surprised to feel any disappointment whatsoever. Malfoy was kissing her! If she allowed herself to think about the _thing_ she was forbidden to think about, her mind would be on fire. Kissing her willingly!

Abruptly, he pulled back, blushing harder than she’d ever seen a Malfoy blush. But then so was she.

“Err…” he stalled.

“Yes, well.”

Behold Hogwarts’ brightest!

Feeling like a dolt, Hermione said as delicately as possible, “Umm… your hand… in my blouse.”

Somehow he managed to turn redder. “Oh!” Whipped it out so fast, he almost took her blouse with him. Then, “Uhh… your buttons…”

Hermione didn’t think it was entirely necessary for Draco to lean in and peer while gesturing that they were undone. Unable to meet his gaze, she did up her shirt and turned her back on him.

“That was by _far_ the worst episode yet,” she decided, moving a few desks over for good measure. Her face still felt warm. She couldn’t look at him.

“By far,” he agreed. “I’m going over here. You stay there. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

**

So he had kissed her, Draco thought gloomily, staring at a scar in the desk he occupied now. Once, he had been forced too. Magical clichés or whatever the gig with this assignment was. And the second time? Well, that had been an accident. Chalk it up to the fact that he had come to to find his lips against Granger’s and his hand flush up against one gloriously round breast.

Deformed. He meant to say deformed. Really, he did. Glorious. Unlikely.

Oh, honestly! It was hardly his fault that her tits felt as lovely as her arse. At least this time he had not been in front of a classroom. That had to count for something, he reasoned. At least he wasn’t going to have to deal with all of her mates later, out to avenge her honour or some such rot.

And he had blushed. Worst thing of all!

But then, she had kissed him back. Granted, he thought her to be a bit brazen under the influences of the potions; had felt like he’d won the teenage boy lottery. She’d been shy after it had worn off- she had blushed too, after all- but she _had_ kissed him back.

But then what did that mean?

And why did he care?

He didn’t care, clearly. This potion was addling his senses. Wasn’t like he’d noticed Granger before. Well, there had been that time in the corridor when she had looked so cute with all of her textbooks and her horrid awful hair that he’d accidentally said hello to her. And there were all those times when he’d found himself ogling her arse in the Great Hall but that wasn’t noticing. That was observing, and that was different. Somehow.

But it wasn’t as though he _fancied_ her. He fancied Pansy. He was _supposed_ to fancy Pansy. Hermione was supposed to fancy Ron. Simple. Easy.

Merlin, but how he _loathed_ the Weasel!

Casually, he glanced over at Granger. She was staring straight ahead, still sweetly coloured, and looking absolutely miserable. He felt an odd pang in his gut, not like the pang of an oncoming potion incident, but one of… well, one of things he wasn’t going to think about. Cursing himself for a fool, he pushed off of his chair and moved to straddle the one in front of her.

He was certain he meant to say something along the lines of _Finally got to kiss a Pureblood, eh! Way to live the dream!_ but what came out was, “Don’t take it too badly, Hermione. We promised not to talk about anything that happens outside of this room. No one will ever find out. People kiss all the time. It’s not like we shagged.”

Ugh. He had not said Hermione.

She blinked. Seemed to ponder his words before nodding.

Gamely, she replied, “So. Back to the topic at hand.” Reached for her book and opened it to the page they’d been reading. “Let me tell you just why you’re wrong.”

**

_Incident the Fourth_

The book had long been forgotten by the time the two erstwhile enemies felt the symptoms of the fourth and final round of potion-induced horridness. Conversation had moved from runes, to Arithmancy, to Quidditch, and Hermione was _almost_ willing to admit that she felt comfortable with the dreaded ferret. He was an excellent conversationalist, after all. Nearly as intelligent as she, and everything.

“Ugh, my stomach,” she announced, in regards to what she had decided to think of as symptoms.

“Mine as well,” he said. “I’ll be glad enough when this is over.”

“Last part.”

“Indeed. What do you suppose this one will be? You know that shagging thing I mentioned? Maybe we’ll get lucky, quite literally. Do you suppose-”

“Draco,” she rushed, leaning forward, “I’ve something to tell you. Something dreadful. Something only the two of us can ever know.”

Something dreadful indeed, thought Hermione. Wished she could hold her hand over her mouth. She had absolutely no desire whatsoever to confide what she was about to confide in her hated… whatever he was. No, not whatever. Enemy. In her hated enemy.

“Dreadful?” repeated Draco. “Oh, do tell. I love a good secret. I’m all agog with anticipation.”

She just bet he was. Feeling oddly resigned, she admitted, “I hate this potion. I don’t want to tell you what I’m about to tell you.”

His smile practically oozed sympathy. “Not to worry, Granger. I’m certain I’ll bare my soul next. Bloody potion.”

Bloody potion indeed. Had to look away from him before speaking. And she did _not_ want to say it. She was blushing already and she felt quite ill. How horrible this potion was! How violating. She would never have admitted this under _torture_. Next class, she was standing nowhere near Malfoy and his uncharacteristic clumsiness.

“You lied to me about your homework,” she said softly.

Draco snorted. “So? I read _most_ of it.”

“Not the warnings!” Curse him for not reading the warnings. “Did you not wonder why those paper dolls were charmed?”

“No,” he told her honestly. “I thought they were charmed to move.”

She was going to commit suicide when all of this was over. Trying in vain to silence herself, she blurted out, “They were charmed to feel some sort of affection for each other, besides being able to move. None of this would have worked if those blasted dolls were hiding feelings for each other. Can’t you see how terrible this is? It never would have worked if you hadn’t secretly liked me!”

If _he_ hadn’t secretly liked _her_?! Well, that was rich. Panicking and sensing his own embarrassing sharing session fast approaching, Draco snapped, “You mean if you hadn’t fancied me!”

Hermione looked only ever so slightly frustrated when she said, “It’s alright. It’s better that we don’t actually admit it. Keep things the same. You can sneer at me still if you like. I’ll never let on that I know. I’ll call you ferret at every given opportunity.”

Draco knew he should have been relieved at hearing that. Only it seemed wrong that poor Hermione should be harbouring some sort of secret fancy for him that she could never acknowledge. How terrible to have to live with that!

“Do you like me, Granger?” he asked gently, out of some sort of sick potion-induced curiosity. “I don’t think you can lie now that we’re forced to share. Blasted potion, eh?”

“I hate this potion. _That’s_ not a lie.” A beat, during which she studied her hands. “ _If_ I liked you, it doesn’t really mean anything.”

Draco was oddly disappointed in her answer. Sighing, he patted her arm uncomfortably. “If _I_ like _you_ , it wouldn’t mean anything either.”

Hermione’s gaze shot to his and for a moment, they did nothing but stare rather pathetically at each other. He thought of all they’d experienced together, all the hate and loathing, and felt oddly sad that it could never quite culminate into anything better. After all, she would never admit to anything-

But then, neither would he.

Sighing herself, Granger rose and looked down her nose at him. “Think that’s it then?” she asked. “My stomach feels okay. I’m horribly embarrassed, of course. Also rather molested. I think I’d like to go back to my room. Remember, not a word about this to anyone, Malfoy. Not a single syllable.”

And, for once, Draco Malfoy was in complete agreement with Hermione Granger.

**

It took one week for Hermione to get over the ill effects of the potion, mainly because Harry and Ron would not stop prattling on about how they were going to thrash the living daylights out of Malfoy for grabbing her arse in front of the whole class. Knew it was a good thing that they didn’t know the rest. She could think of a kiss or two that they wouldn’t be terribly happy to be informed of.

It took another week after that for Hermione to acknowledge that possibly- just possibly- she might have enjoyed that kiss or two; that she might have wished however stupidly that _she_ might have gotten a grope of Malfoy’s arse too.

It was quite troubling suddenly being able to acknowledge her secret fancy, at least to herself. It was quite troubling knowing that Malfoy liked her as much as she secretly liked him. It was quite pointless dancing around him like a giant dolt, too afraid to even spar with him now.

And she _missed_ it. Had even set herself up for a good jab when she had been in hearing range of him in the corridor the other day. Bother was that Malfoy seemed to be avoiding her just as fervently as she had been avoiding him.

Only that it was so _silly_. There was no reason at all that she could think of concerning why they shouldn’t acknowledge their feelings. There had been reasons, of course, but that was the past and Hermione made a point of not living in that. And so Hermione Granger hatched a plan.

She waited until Draco’s fifth Quidditch practice after their little… incident. Couldn’t quite get up the stones to do it before that, Gryffindor or not. Thought she was going to die of a heart attack, waiting on him in the shadows of the corridor he was bound to take between the pitch and the Slytherin dungeon. _Knew_ she was going to die of one when she saw him coming down the corridor, strutting in that way that only he had perfected and looking oh so handsome in his uniform. Thought he might die of one too when she stepped out into his path.

Rushed out, “It’s not exactly an abandoned corridor, is it” before she lost her nerve.

And Malfoy ogled her. Looked shocked but not, to her relief, horrified. However, his silence horrified her enough that she wished fervently for a swift _Obliviate_ for the both of them.

Just when she was about to expire from extreme humiliation, he shot her one of his best cocky smirks. Tentatively reached forward and caught her hand.

“Well,” he told her, “I _am_ in my Quidditch uniform and I do know where we can find an abandoned one. Shall I find something to spill on us, to really set the mood?”

She laughed at that and entwined their fingers. Felt all sorts of silly when she said, “For the record, liking you does not mean that I don’t hate you.”

“Of course. I hate you too.”

“How charming.”

“How romantic.”

“Malfoy?”

“Hmm?”

“Do shut up and lead the way, before I change my mind. In fact, if we are going to see each other I think perhaps you should work on your ability not to talk. We both can’t be right all the time and it’s simply easier if I do all the talking and take all the credit for anything that-”

“Granger?”

“Yes?”

“That Shakespeare bloke any good?”

**The End.**

Vexia requested:

Describe your ideal valentine in as few words as possible: Something with sarcasm and snark and maybe a brilliant twist on a cliché. Dark, light mood – it doesn't matter.  
Dealbreakers (absolute no-no's): Hermione and Draco doing things they would never do.


End file.
